


Perfect

by InnerMuse



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A hint of dom/sub, A little fantasizing, A little teasing, A little tickling, A lot of sappiness, Cutscene at the lake, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, sub!cullen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-05-04 20:01:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5346773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerMuse/pseuds/InnerMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen has precious few pleasant memories from before joining the Inquisition – several of which focus on a certain lake in the South Reach of Ferelden. He'd love to share them with his Inquisitor... and acquire more happy memories in the process.</p><p>Featuring the cutscene at the lake, eventually. Mostly just incredibly sappy fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read my other fic, you know that I have a tendency to churn out ridiculous amounts of fluff at the smallest provocation (or cutscene). When watching the trip to the lake, I wondered why it was so dim – and my headcanon answer is that it's because the sun hadn't risen yet. Cullen had brought the Inquisitor there before dawn to watch the sunrise (so romantic~~). Which means I have a _whole day_ to fill with fluff!
> 
> And also the evening before, because the only thing better than way too much fluff is _even more_ fluff.  How many times can I say the word "fluff" in one note? They get to the lake around Chapter 3 or so. Enjoy!

_"We have some dealings in Ferelden,"_ her Commander had said, _"I was hoping you might accompany me."_ Inquisitor Kelandris Trevelyan had been intrigued, to say the least. The dealings in question were routine Inquisition business – a couple new outposts to inspect, a batch of recruits to impress, a supply line or two to investigate – nothing that called for the presence of the Inquisitor and the Inquisition's Commander both. But Cullen had asked her along specifically, promising a surprise – and an extra day away from Skyhold, just for them. With such an incentive, she could not possibly refuse.

So it was that a week later, she found herself riding up to a modest inn in a nondescript town in southern Ferelden, her Commander at her side, business concluded. It had rained the previous day (much to Cullen's chagrin, though he still wouldn't tell her their plans), so outside it was chilly and damp. As soon as they opened the door, however, a wave of cheery warmth and light spilled out to greet them. It was strange to enter the common room without immediately being hailed by cries of "Inquisitor!" or "Your Worship!" or even "Hey boss!"— strange, but not unpleasant. It was rather nice to just be Kelandris for an evening, rather than Lady Inquisitor Kelandris Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste, etc. etc. (Though of course she always enjoyed being _My lady_ with Cullen.) She let him book them a room while she took in the friendly atmosphere. A few of the simple yet well-crafted tables were occupied by couples or by patrons sitting alone. One larger group – farmers, by their clothes – had pushed together three tables next to the big brick hearth along the back wall. A roaring fire crackled in the grate, and the smell of something hearty and gently spiced wafted from the kitchen, making her mouth water.

"I assumed you'd want dinner," Cullen said, interrupting her survey of the room. He gestured towards the serving woman headed towards a table for two in the corner with a handful of cutlery.

"Maker, yes. If whatever they're making tastes half as good as it smells, I will be a happy woman," she replied, nodding thanks at the server as they sat down. The young woman hurried off to fetch their meals. Her Commander hooked an ankle around his chair and dragged it next to hers instead of across the table. Kelandris cocked an eyebrow at him; he looked back unabashedly.

"I could pretend I want my back to the wall in case of trouble, but to be perfectly honest, I just want to sit closer to you."

She smirked at him, amused and fond. "Well, someone is certainly infatuated."

"Hopelessly," he agreed readily, and laced their fingers together under the table. She chuckled at that, and squeezed his hand. As much as she teased him for it, she felt the same way. Had she been the sort for silly theatrics, the prospect of an entire day spent in the company of her Commander – with no duties to interrupt them – would be enough to make her want to twirl around the room, giggling. Fortunately for her dignity, she wasn't one for such displays (at least not in public – she had been known to indulge in such frippery, very rarely, in private, though of course she would never admit to such a thing), but she still felt as if a warm glow filled her chest at the thought.

A few minutes later, the server arrived with their meals (and a saucy wink for Cullen, though he paid it no mind), and the metaphorical heat inside her was soon replaced with literal heat as they tucked in. The lamb stew and mulled cider were simple fare, but whatever they lacked in novelty they more than made up for in quality.

"I want to hire this cook," Kelandris declared as she scraped the last of the vegetables from her bowl. Cullen followed suit before taking a long pull from his mug and sitting back with a hum of contentment.

"You'll get no complaints from me," he responded languidly. "We can ask Josephine to look into it later."

"You don't think that would be a waste of Inquisition resources?"

"Absolutely not. A good, hot meal can do wonders for morale."

"Hmmm..." She considered that for a moment, then eyed him slyly. "You know what else is good for morale?"

"Hmm?"

"An evening with no reports, no meetings, and no politics, spent in unconscionably attractive company." Cullen ducked his head at that, lips curling into a slow smile. She would never tire of complimenting him. His good looks were not exactly news – her Commander knew the effect he had on women, and some men as well (their server was still casting doe-eyed glances in his direction, much to her distaste) – although most of the time he seemed to regard his handsome appearance as a minor annoyance, at best. _"If I had a copper for every time I had to yell at a new recruit for ogling me instead of watching their opponent, the Inquisition would never run short of cash again,"_ he'd complained to her, once. When _she_ was the one expressing interest, however, it was a completely different story – he would grin bashfully and blush like a schoolboy. His reaction was both adorable and highly gratifying – and this time was no exception.

His response, however, came as a pleasant surprise: "'Unconscionably attractive?' I would have gone with _radiantly beautiful_ , myself, but the sentiment is certainly the same."

That wasn't something she encountered often – his rejoinder had been smooth, suave, and flawlessly delivered. Most of the time, when there was romance involved, Cullen was prone to fumbling with his words. Occasionally, however, if the mood struck him just right... his stutters would give way to a silver tongue that could take her breath away.

"Have you been practicing that one?" She teased with a smirk. He matched her smile, the curl of his lips accentuated as always by his deliciously wicked scar.

"Not at all. Clearly, it's just your natural grace and charm rubbing off on me."

Kelandris felt a slight flush tint her cheeks. Tonight was a night for fair words, it seemed. "Alright, who are you and what have you done with my shy, awkward Commander?"

He chuckled. Capturing her hand with one of his, he brought it to his lips and brushed a velvet-soft kiss across her knuckles. (In the edge of her vision, she saw the serving woman do a double take, and had to fight down the urge to glare – Cullen was _hers_.) "Perhaps he was frightened off by the prospect of dinner with such an engaging, delightful woman?"

Sweet Maker. She liked this side of him. "In that case, we should have dinner more often."

"I would certainly have no objections."

"What, no more compliments? I was rather enjoying myself," she said archly, eyebrows raised in mock affront. "Still, I suppose no one can spin words so enchantingly all evening, not even my devastatingly clever Commander." Their banter may have been playful and completely melodramatic, but Kelandris got the sense that he meant every word – as did she. 

"My sincerest apologies, Inquisitor – I'm afraid the sheer pleasure of your company drove the rest of my intended compliments clear out of my head," he replied, eyes bright with amusement and affection alike.

"Well, you seem to have recovered admirably. Hardly surprising, for a man of your talent... Shall we continue this upstairs? The young woman at the bar has been making eyes at you all evening." She rose fluidly, and offered Cullen her hand. He took the opportunity to adorn it with another kiss, drawing a small, dreamy noise of pleasure from her lips.

"I can't say I noticed," he remarked as they headed towards the narrow staircase across the common room. She glanced back at him, intrigued.

"No?"

"I was too captivated by your intoxicating presence, my lady – I had not a moment to spare for anyone else." He favored her with a besotted smile, which she returned with alacrity. His charming responses continued to surpass her expectations. 

"Maker, Cullen, you would put the minstrels to shame tonight," she sighed.

They had reached the landing partway up the stairs. Her Commander caught her hand again and tugged her gently against the wall, out of sight of the patrons lingering below. Calloused fingers cupped her chin, warm even through his gloves.

"It's because of you, Kelandris," he said, lingering delightfully over her name. "You inspire me." He did not wait for a response, but instead simply tipped her face to his. She leaned into his lips, resting her free hand on his armored hip and letting her eyes drift closed for a moment. The kiss was sweet and smooth, like the finest Orlesian chocolate – but brief. Just a taste of things to come. There was no hurry, after all – they had plenty of time. A whole evening, and all the next day besides... With a frisson of anticipation, Kelandris led the way upstairs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a brief mention of teasing & denial here (a sentence or two). I love being the author, it means I can turn my kinks into Cullen's kinks, too! :D

It took Cullen a couple tries to fumble the key into the lock of their rented room – he had gone clumsy with anticipation. He fully expected his Inquisitor to press him back against the door as soon as they entered and stake her claim with a blistering kiss. He wasn't particularly bothered by the barmaid giving him looks – he had eyes for one woman and one woman alone, and a few flirtatious glances wouldn't change that – but Kelandris could be quite... possessive, sometimes. He remembered the barbed smile she had turned on his crowd of unwelcome admirers at the Winter Palace – flawlessly polite, yet somehow still honed to a vicious razor edge. Her pale gray-violet eyes had glittered with suppressed fury, as hard and sharp as amethysts. Seeing it had given him chills – if she ever turned that gaze on _him_ , he would probably snap to attention so fast he'd get whiplash. (Unless they were alone, in which case he might just end up on his knees— But he was not going to follow that particular line of thought. It could very quickly get out of hand.) She wasn't angry now, however. To Cullen's slight disappointment, she didn't immediately start ravaging his mouth with hers once their door clicked shut. Instead she merely rapped a knuckle against his breastplate.

"Take this off," she ordered. "I want to embrace you properly."

Ahh, she was in a gentler mood. He was only too happy to comply. Holding her was always a pleasure, armored or not, but feeling her curled warm and close against his chest with only cloth between them was nothing short of heavenly. Almost as good, however, was the way her breath caught when he responded with a husky, "As you wish, my lady." Cullen loved how much his deference affected her. It was empowering, in an odd sort of way, knowing that he could crack her careful composure with a murmured honorific – though of course he still meant it, every time. He set to work on the myriad clasps and buckles of his plate mail with a satisfied chuckle. Kelandris sauntered past him to perch on the edge of the bed, glancing over her shoulder with smoldering eyes. Maker's breath, she was entrancing.

In short order, Cullen's armor was stacked neatly in the corner. She slipped out of her vest in turn and tossed it over – he added it to the pile, carefully folded. Finally, he went over to the bed where his lady sat waiting. Taking both her hands in his, he drew her to her feet, and straight into a gentle kiss. His lips covered hers; she tasted of the sweet cider they'd had with dinner, and a hint of spice that was uniquely her. Her tongue flicked over his scar, playfully; he responded by trailing _his_ tongue across her bottom lip until she moaned, low in her throat. The sound resonated deep within him. He felt her hands leave his and wrap tightly around his back, but she turned her face away before he could deepen the kiss. Truthfully, he didn't mind – if they got swept up in a tide of passion, they wouldn't do anything else all evening. It was so rare that they spent any length of time together – as much as he enjoyed their kisses (and oh, did he ever), now that he had the opportunity, Cullen wanted to simply hold her. To admire her, caress her, feel the way she fit snugly into his arms... He pulled her tight against his chest.

Kelandris gave a happy sigh and rested her head on his shoulder. Her hair spilled over her face in a silky curtain of fiery red. That would never do – he wanted to see her. Cullen leaned over and nuzzled the errant strands out of the way. Her eyes had gone half-lidded, and her lips were curled in a lazy, contented smile, which widened as she glanced up at him. She wasn't wearing any makeup – she hardly ever did, except to impress visiting dignitaries – but he thought she was stunning, regardless. The lack was out of practicality, rather than dislike – she had confessed before the ball at the Winter Palace that she very much enjoyed getting dressed up occasionally. (She and Josephine had promptly closeted themselves in the Ambassador's quarters for a lengthy discussion of cosmetics, or fabric, or... whatever it was that women talked about when planning for a party.) But, there was no point in expending the extra effort to put on makeup, Kelandris had explained once, if she was just going to ruin it as soon as she stepped into the training yard. In his opinion, she didn't need the enhancement, anyway.

Cullen smiled down at her as she nestled a little deeper into his embrace, gaze tracing her familiar features. The strong line of her jaw, the nearly invisible dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks, the elegant curve of her eyebrows – and of course, a pair of full, wonderfully kissable lips. A small scar crossed over one delicate cheekbone, where a pride demon's claw had nicked her the first time she tried to close the Breach. He had heard about that fight afterwards from Cassandra, who had described the then-mysterious Lady Trevelyan as committed to her duty and unflinching in the face of danger. He had been impressed – not many could win such praise from the formidable Seeker. Kelandris had a longer scar running along her jaw on the other side, as well – a gift from her confrontation with Corypheus at Haven – although it was currently hidden against his shoulder. He had caught only glimpses of that encounter, but the images were etched permanently into his mind: the Herald of Andraste, standing alone amidst the flaming wreckage of the town, defiantly staring down an Archdemon and its Blighted master. Some people might find the healed wounds from those battles unattractive – but as far as Cullen was concerned, some people were idiots. To him, they were badges of honor, marks of courage, reminders of sacrifice. He thought his Inquisitor's face was perfect.

He could only look at her for so long, however, before the temptation to touch her became irresistible. He placed a sweet kiss against the scar on her cheek. And then one on her forehead, as well. And another, nestled in her hair, just for good measure... Of course, while he was peppering her with kisses anyway, one more on the shell of her ear couldn't hurt, either. He felt a rumble of laughter against his chest and grinned. The next moment her lips were on his neck in retaliation. He bared his throat to her attentions – he was always happy to let her play with him a little.

Kelandris trailed a line of hot kisses up the side of his face. Her low, wicked chuckle tickled against him, and sent a shivery-hot tingle down his spine. When she nibbled his earlobe, the sound that came out of his mouth was an embarrassingly undignified combination of a moan and a whine; it only encouraged her to continue her exploration. Her lips scraped against his stubble as she traced a path back down his jaw. Unsurprisingly, she paused halfway to his chin to lavish attention on the scar at his lip. She seemed fascinated by it. Not that he minded – the smooth, warm strokes of her tongue were exquisite against the thin ridge of flesh. It also left her in the perfect position for kissing— but Kelandris deftly avoided his attempt to recapture her mouth with his. In response to his efforts, she tangled a hand in his hair, effectively keeping him still, and went back to suckling at his neck, brushing her lips sensually over his skin. She liked to tease, his Inquisitor, and he liked to let her – although it was awfully difficult not to imagine that fiendishly clever tongue of hers on certain _other_ parts of his anatomy... He all but shuddered at the thought. Most likely she would play the same wicked games while giving him pleasure as she sometimes did when they cuddled – she would tease and tantalize and torment, subjecting him to _her_ whims instead of his own... it would be absolutely excruciating, without a doubt, and utterly _glorious_ , and he'd probably be half out of his mind by the time she finally granted him release—

And if he didn't keep his wandering thoughts under control, then he would end up driving _himself_ half out of his mind, and that was not nearly as fun. Especially since Kelandris was still trailing kisses under his chin, occasionally nipping at the sensitive skin of his throat, and he really ought to pay attention. It wasn't every day he could hold such an amazing woman in his arms, let alone while she favored him with that slow caress of her lips that made him tingle with desire... Eventually, she had mercy on him, though not before planting a final, tauntingly chaste kiss against his cheek. Cullen opened his eyes (he didn't even remember closing them) to find her looking up at him with an incredibly smug smile spread across her face.

"Maker's breath," he said hoarsely, "Are you trying to drive me mad?"

"Only a little," she replied cheekily. "How else would I get to hear those deliciously sinful noises you make?"

Cullen felt his face heat. Even if he hadn't, though, he would have known he was blushing by her reaction – her eyes sparkled with hidden laughter as her smirk widened. He couldn't help the answering curl of his lips – and was gratified when her gaze immediately flicked to his mouth. Kelandris wasn't the only one who could tease— but he didn't get the chance to capitalize on her distraction. She darted in to nip at his lower lip, and all his breath escaped in a rush. He huffed in affectionate exasperation.

"You," he began, and kissed her nose, "Are insufferable." She giggled. Cullen grinned – she didn't do that very often. She was too conscious of propriety and the gravity of her position. When he could make her forget those for a while, though, he was rewarded with that light, carefree laughter that made his heart sing.

"Oh, I know," she responded coyly, "But you can't deny that you like it." She winked, nudging him with her hip. He flushed a few shades darker – there was an unmistakable bulge in his trousers. Kelandris smirked again, that wicked glint still in her eyes. He had a feeling she was not done with him yet.

"I wasn't planning on— Ah!" She was not, in fact, done with him yet. Halfway through his sentence, she abruptly spun them around, putting him between her and the bed, and pushed. The back of his knees caught the mattress, and he fell over with a whump and a startled cry, his Inquisitor on top of him. She had misjudged the springiness of the landing, however, and ended up bouncing off his chest and landing sideways. The result was a slightly ridiculous tangle of limbs, and Kelandris burst out laughing as the heated moment slipped away. He laughed, too, rich and full – it was such a joy to have this time together, to just relax, to be spontaneous and silly and free from worry... When he calmed, he found his lady staring at him with soft eyes, wearing the most tender, unguarded expression he'd ever seen on her face.

Cullen went still. Had it always been this hard to breathe? He didn't think so – but he had no need for air, anyway, not while the love of his life was looking down at him as if she had just discovered he was made of diamonds. But Kelandris had it backwards – _he_ should be looking at _her_ like that (although, for that matter, he probably was). Didn't she realize that it was she who was unfathomably precious? He hoped so. But, maybe he should tell her anyway, just in case – except he didn't think his mouth was working correctly. She was just _so beautiful_ , he couldn't concentrate on anything else...

After a long, poignant moment, Kelandris rolled off him. The mood broke, and Cullen emerged from his daze. Maker's breath, the effect she had on him sometimes... She could be downright hypnotizing. Fortunately, she didn't seem to mind that he occasionally made a complete fool of himself in front of her.

"You should do that more often," she said, "It becomes you." She settled on her side facing him, head propped up on one elbow.

He arched an eyebrow, back in possession of his full wits now that he wasn't staring deeply into her pale amethyst eyes. "What, fall down? I imagine the recruits would appreciate that, at least, though my dignity certainly wouldn't."

Huffing in amusement and mock exasperation, his Inquisitor smacked him lightly on the chest with her free hand. "No, you silly man. I meant laugh."

He chuckled, turning to mirror her position. "I know." But his mirth faded as he added, "Unfortunately, there's not a lot to laugh about, these days." She sobered as well. Her hand sought his on the blankets between them, twining their sword-calloused fingers together in solidarity against the suffering of the world.

"I know," she echoed seriously. "But the Inquisition is working to fix that. We _will_ restore peace and order to Thedas, whatever it takes. We have foiled Corypheus's plans in the past, and we will do so again, as many times as necessary, until we can finally deal with him once and for all."

Cullen nodded, solemn, sharing in the unspoken promise to see their mission through. Kelandris squeezed his hand.

"But that's all for later," she said then, and the heavy atmosphere lifted as she smiled. "We're relaxing right now, remember?"

He did indeed. With a chuckle, he assented, and leaned over to kiss her again. She allowed it, this time, and kissed him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter, when it comes, will be the continuation of this one - I actually broke it in half because it was getting way too long.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing particularly steamy this time, just fluff and banter.

"I hardly know what to do with myself without a mountain of reports to sort through," Cullen remarked a few minutes later, once they had had their fill of kissing (for the time being, anyway). They were curled loosely together across the bed, pleasantly languid.

"Something enjoyable, I would hope." Kelandris rolled over and stretched. Lean muscles shifted enticingly under the smooth crimson fabric of her blouse, pulled briefly tight against her figure by the motion. As he admired the elegant lines of her body, Cullen found his mind wandering. He wondered what it would be like to unbutton that blouse. To bare a strip of light bronze skin, to watch the candlelight play across her perfect form... To worship every uncovered inch with gentle fingers and careful tongue—

Maker's breath. He moistened suddenly dry lips and brought his thoughts back into line. Again.

"Does watching you count?" Fantasizing about what lay under her shirt was not exactly appropriate, but it did at least qualify as _something enjoyable_. His question earned him one of her wonderfully sultry chuckles. The things that sound did to him...

"You tell me," Kelandris replied, "You're the one who planned this getaway. I, for one, was planning to get comfortable and curl up with a book and my favorite Commander." She flashed him a smile and slipped off the bed to go rummage in their packs, conveniently deposited in the corner by whoever had prepared the room. Was it his imagination, or was the sway of her hips more pronounced than usual as she crossed the room? 

"Do you have a least favorite Commander?" He asked, amusement coloring his tone.

"Well, considering you're my only Commander..." Kelandris smirked at him over her shoulder. "No, I don't." He snorted, sitting up. She came back to the bed holding a hairbrush and a cheaply-bound novel – the front cover featured an illustration of a muscle-bound warrior propping an improbably large greatsword against one bare shoulder. Cullen blinked – he hadn't realized she was interested that sort of thing.

"That's not one of Varric's, is it?" He asked dubiously. She huffed derisively.

"Sweet Maker, no. He may be brilliant in other genres, but his romance is awful. I've tried _Swords and Shields_ , and I don't know what Cassandra sees in it. Of course, this is hardly any better," she hefted her book, "But I like reading something frivolous every once and a while. It's a nice change from war reports."

Cassandra read sappy love stories as well? This was news to him. Was there some sort of correlation between powerful, competent women and terrible literature? It would certainly be bizarre, but the Maker worked in mysterious ways... As he boggled, Kelandris dropped her burdens on the bed and plopped back down. Before she could get settled, however, he'd seized her around the waist and dragged her into his lap, her back to his chest. He wasn't about to waste any opportunity to encircle her in his arms.

"Well, hello to you too," she said, laughing. She fit snugly against him, supple and soft and strong all at once. Cullen's only response was a blissful sigh – she was tucked neatly under his chin, and he was too wrapped up in her presence to spare a thought for speech. Burying his face in her shoulder, he inhaled the autumn-crisp scent of her hair. Her skin was warm against his cheek, even through her shirt. She was utterly intoxicating – he could easily drown in her, spend hours just luxuriating in the solid weight of her in his embrace... He tightened his grip slightly, and his Inquisitor settled a little deeper into his arms. Her hum of contentment seemed to resonate through his whole body, he was that attuned to her responses.

Her ear was resting next to his lips – he kissed it, unable to resist, smiling at the pleasant little sigh the gesture evoked. She deserved to have someone make her happy. So much depended on her... Kelandris never complained, but sometimes, he could see the strain, regardless, reflected in in the tense set of her jaw or the tightness of her shoulders. But then she would look at him, catching his eye for a brief moment across the war room or the courtyard, and her lips would curl into that soft, subtle smile that was reserved just for him. It lit her face from within, drained all the tension right out of her, and Cullen thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Whenever he saw that smile, he knew that _this_ was where he belonged. That for once in his life, he had done something unquestionably, completely right.

And she made him happy, too. She showed her affection in a hundred subtle ways – a heart scrawled next to her name at the end of a report; a deliberate brush of his fingers with hers as she passed him a marker across the war table; a detour through his office on the way to a meeting, even when he knew it was the longer route. Every time, his heart would flutter in his chest, his day made that much brighter by her presence in his life. And when he was at his lowest, when his whole body ached and his head throbbed fit to bursting and his blood burned for lyrium's siren song... Kelandris was there for him. There was never pity or censure in her steady gaze, only compassion. She would sit on the couch and tell him in no uncertain terms that it was time to take a break, and the sound of her voice would cut like a knife through the fog that clouded his mind. He would curl up with his head in her lap and she would press cool fingers to his temples or stroke his sweat-soaked hair as he shook and whimpered— And a few days later, when the worst had passed, Cullen could meet her eyes and still find no recrimination there, no disgust or revulsion or scorn, and he would fall in love with her all over again.

Now, however, he felt wonderful. His Inquisitor was curled in _his_ lap, this time, warm and relaxed. He rubbed his cheek against her hair, overcome with affection. Maker's breath, she was just so... perfect. He wished he had a way with words, so he could express what he was feeling— _I love you, Kelandris._ The phrase hovered on the tip of his tongue. He was still in just the right position to whisper in her ear – he could tell her. He wanted to tell her. To make it clear just how much she meant to him. He wasn't sure if he should – was it even appropriate to say such a thing to the Inquisitor? They were at war, for Andraste's sake – and yet... The moment was so still, so comfortable. Cullen drew a breath—

But then Kelandris was wiggling in his lap, loosening his hold and pulling back to smile fondly at him, and the opportunity slipped away. He pushed aside a pang of disappointment – he would wait until the moment was right.

"If you're going to nuzzle my hair like that," his lady was saying, "At least let me get the tangles out first."

Oh, she had brought over a brush, hadn't she? He brightened at the thought – it would be nice to see her bright red hair fall in shining waves past her shoulders, no longer slightly mussed from travel. Maybe she would indulge him when she finished and he could run his fingers through it, feel the silky smooth strands slide past his skin... A thought occurred to him as she moved off his lap and picked her hairbrush up from where it had fallen on the bed – maybe he didn't need to wait.

"Could I..." He began, and hesitated. It was a rather silly request – but Kelandris had cocked her head at him, eyebrows raised curiously, and he couldn't leave the sentence hanging. Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. "Um, this might sound a bit foolish, but... do you think I could... do that for you?"

She blinked, glanced from him to the brush in her hand and back – he was sure his cheeks were flaming by now, why had he opened his mouth? – but she was smiling broadly, delighted.

"Maker, yes! To tell you the truth, I adore having someone brush my hair. I haven't asked anyone to do it since... Sweet Maker, not since before the Conclave. With everyone working overtime as it is just to keep the Inquisition running smoothly, it seemed a silly desire. But, since you offered..." She handed over her brush and turned around to put her back to him again, gracefully sweeping her hair over her shoulder. "By all means, please do. Though I probably sound like one of those pampered Orlesian puffballs, now, don't I?"

He chuckled, gathering up her flaming locks in one hand and gently working the brush through the ends. "Not at all. A true Orlesian puffball would have demanded that the overworked servants comb her hair anyway. I'm actually surprised none of the visiting nobles have tried that already."

"I'm sure someone has. Josephine would have deflected them admirably – any noblewoman who truly cared would bring along her own ladies-in-waiting. Trying to commandeer our servants is just a test, a way for upstart nobility to see if they can make the Inquisition bend to their will."

Cullen digested this for a bemused moment. "Huh, really? I didn't realize it was quite so complicated."

"It's the Game," she remarked dryly, "Everything is complicated."

"So I've discovered," he responded in the same tone. "I much prefer battles – they're so much simpler. It's hard to misunderstand people with swords – either they're trying to stab you, in which case you stab them first, or they're not, so you don't."

She snorted. "Yes, because that is definitely how combat works, all the time."

He chuckled. "Well, that may be a slight overgeneralization." She joined in his amusement. Afterwards, they lapsed into companionable silence for a little while. Kelandris seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his attentions. Cullen, for his part, appreciated the rhythmic glide of the brush through her hair, and the way his lady leaned into each stroke, back arching like a cat being petted. (It just felt so _good_ to please her.) After another few moments of relaxed motion, though, a question occurred to him.

"Did you say 'ladies-in-waiting,' plural?"

"Of course." She sounded amused. "You think a pompous noble would restrain themselves to just one? You've seen Orlesian fashion – it's almost impossible to get into a dress like that on your own, and that's just for normal wear. Any proper ballgown requires the help of at least three ladies' maids to put on, not to mention all the work that goes into styling one's hair and applying cosmetics. It's all quite labor intensive – Empress Celene probably has a full dozen ladies-in-waiting on her staff."

"Maker's breath! What do you even do with that many servants?" 

She laughed lightly. "That does seem rather excessive, doesn't it? I suppose you would rotate them around, so no one person gets stuck assisting with the royal wardrobe too many days in a row."

"Huh," he said again. He would never understand nobility. Most nobility, anyway – he supposed his Inquisitor was a noble, at that. But he couldn't imagine her ever employing a dozen ladies-in-waiting. For that matter, he had a hard time picturing her in one of those frilly, puffy ballgowns, either. She was far too practical. The formal uniforms they'd all been forced into at Halamshiral were had been bad enough – though Kelandris had certainly looked... striking, to say the very least. All done up in crisply cut satin, hair held back from her face by a pair of elegant braids, with knee-high boots polished mirror-bright and a glittering rapier resting at her hip... When she'd walked into the war room for their final debriefing before the ball, Cullen had nearly forgotten how to breathe. (Fortunately, he hadn't been the only one making a fool of himself that night – it had taken Josephine three tries to draw the Inquisitor's attention away from the corner where he was standing, blushing and self-conscious, in his own uniform.) He could hardly imagine how Kelandris might look in a fancy dress. But, Maker's breath, that would certainly be a sight to behold...

He realized he'd stopped brushing her hair when she nudged him, saying his name inquiringly.

"Oh! Sorry," he apologized hastily, resuming his ministrations. "I got distracted."

"Did you now? By what?" He could hear the smirk in her voice, even if he couldn't see it.

"Remembering the way you looked at the Winter Palace, and trying to imagine you in a ballgown," he confessed. Her answering chuckle was downright sinful.

"Someday, when this is all over, we will host a victory gala at Skyhold," she promised. "You will get to see me wear a proper gown, and we will dance the night away together. It will be glorious."

Oh. Cullen was not usually one for parties, but... When she put it like that, he couldn't help but agree. That would be glorious, indeed. The image stayed with him the rest of the evening, as he finished with her hair and they snuggled down together under the covers. Kelandris must truly be a gift of the Maker, if she could make even him look forward to a ball – he would hold her to that promise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally managed to cover the actual cutscene. :)

Kelandris grumbled at him when he woke her up the next morning.

"I did say we would be getting up early," Cullen pointed out softly. "Before dawn, in fact." He tugged the blankets away from her face and brushed back a few stray strands of her hair. Maker, but she was beautiful, even half asleep in the dim, gray predawn light.

"There's early and then there's _early_ ," she muttered against her pillow, eyes squeezed shut in protest.

"It will be worth it," he assured her, "I promise."

Kelandris cracked an eyelid to peer at him skeptically. Nevertheless, she heaved herself out of bed with a final grumpy sigh. By the time they rode out of the small inn yard a little while later, however, she was fully awake. Cullen even noticed her smiling faintly as she took a deep breath of the crisp morning air. The weather was cool and misty, but refreshing – he paused, breathing in the fresh scent of dew-spangled grass before steering his mount towards the road out of town. For a little while, the only sounds were the steady clip-clop of their horses' hooves and the gentle chorus of birdsong.

"So, where are we going?" Kelandris asked at length.

"You'll see," he responded, smirking. He wanted to surprise her.

She raised an eyebrow, but did not press the issue. They lapsed into companionable silence once again. Eventually, Cullen led them off the little dirt road, turning onto an overgrown trail – he recognized the break in the underbrush, despite the early morning shadows. He had traveled this route many times when he was a boy, seeking the peaceful solitude of the lake at the other end. A few minutes of it, anyway – he could never escape from his siblings for long. The path was narrower than he remembered, and less worn – the plant life had begun to encroach along the edges without a steady stream of Rutherford children to keep it at bay – but it still brought back memories of his childhood.

The boulder marking a bend in the trail was familiar, for example. He'd once tripped and fallen against it during a game of tag with Mia and Branson and scraped half the skin off his knee. It had hurt something fierce, but eight-year-old Cullen hadn't cried, even while his mother tended the injury with a stinging sprig of elfroot and a clean bandage, and she'd rewarded him for his bravery with an extra helping of shortbread, still warm from the oven. He smiled in remembered pleasure, recalling the enticing aroma of the cookies cooling on the windowsill. (The smell of the fresh-baked treats had been the cause of his fall in the first place – he'd been too distracted to watch his footing.) He was much older, now, and harder, marked with the scars of wounds far more horrific than that childhood scrape – but he still had a fondness for shortbread. It was his favorite, as a matter of fact – or at least, it had been, for many years. These days, however... He glanced back at Kelandris as they rounded a bend in the trail, thinking of autumn leaves and lilacs and a touch of spice, almost like Embrium: the subtle flavor of her kisses. _That_ was his new favorite thing. Cullen smiled and turned back around in the saddle.

A few minutes later they reached a small clearing. Once the sun rose, the sparse wildflowers would stand out against the thick carpet of grass like gemstones on green velvet. For now, with the sky still lightening in the east, they glinted silver and gray under a layer of dew. Cullen stopped and swung down from his horse – their destination lay just beyond the next break in the trees. Beside him, Kelandris dismounted with effortless grace (Maker's breath, how was it even possible to be that beautiful?) and he offered her his hand. She took it with a smile; Cullen smiled back, alight with anticipation. He had many happy memories of this place already, but he knew that today would bring many more.

He led his lady out of the cozy meadow, through the fringe of trees— and the lake opened up before them. The glassy surface of the water reflected the eastern sky, now painted with the first streaks of dawn. Her little "Oh!" was clear in the morning hush, and tinged with awe. A surge of warmth rose in his chest at the sound – just as he had hoped, Kelandris appreciated the sunrise here as much as he did. She trailed after him as he stepped onto the weathered wood of the dock, gaze lifted to the heavens. Cullen lit the brazier at the end of the pier, and the merry little flame chased away the chill in the air – though most of it had already been banished by the presence of the woman beside him.

"Where are we?" She asked, staring out at the ever-brightening bands of color rippling across the sky.

"I knew of this place from when I was a boy," Cullen explained, leaning against the pylon at the end of the dock. "I don't know if it has a name. I've thought often about bringing you here, but there was never an excuse to make the trip until now." He brought her hand to his lips, then released it to let her wander further down the little pier. "You walk into danger every day," he continued, voice soft and earnest. "I wanted to take you away from that, at least for a moment. I grew up not far from here – this place was always quiet."

Her gentle chuckle echoed across the peaceful waters. "I could use some quiet."

He had figured she would appreciate the break – between the hustle and bustle of Skyhold and the chaos out in the field, Kelandris didn't get much time for herself. She took it in stride masterfully, of course, but now that she was here with him, freed for the moment from the mantle of responsibility... She looked relaxed, truly relaxed, perhaps more so than he'd ever seen her. In the golden light of the newly minted sun, she was radiant. Cullen watched her as she watched the sky. She had tipped her head back, baring the elegant curve of her throat; an easy smile played across her full, eminently kissable lips; the soft light of dawn struck the sleek curtain of her hair, glinting off notes of copper and russet and amber – crowning her in flame, like Andraste herself, come down to earth to bestow her blessings upon him.

"Did you come here often?" His Inquisitor asked after a while, picking up the thread of their conversation.

"Reasonably often. I loved my siblings, but they were very loud. I would come here to clear my head. Of course, they always found me eventually." Cullen grinned, remembering his brother's and sisters' voices echoing across the lake...  
_"Cullen! Branson pulled my hair again!"_  
"I did not! Don't listen to Rosalie, she's telling tales!"  
"Stop yelling, both of you. Cullen, Mother wants us all back for lunch in fifteen minutes."  
"But Mia, she—!"  
"Hush! I'm trying to talk to our brother. Are you coming, Cullen?"  
"Yes, I'll be right there..."

He came back to the present to find Kelandris looking at him, smiling softly.

"You were happy here?" She asked.

"I was," he said, and then, "I still am." How could he not be, with her around? Cliché as it was, it was true. He was glad she was here, sharing in this piece of his past. A pleasant piece, for once. He had told her of the darkest parts already, of the horrors that haunted his nightmares still. He had bared his soul to her, as he had never done with anyone else, and she hadn't turned away— And now, he had the chance to show her that not everything in his past was bleak. He shared her smile, and she held his gaze for a long, tender moment before looking back out across the gilded water.

"It's beautiful."

Cullen mentally shook himself out of his bout of sentimental introspection. "Yes, it is," he agreed, tracing her profile appreciatively. (The sunrise was nice, too, of course.) Kelandris must have heard the smirk in his voice, for she glanced back at him – lips curved in a knowing smile – and idly tossed her head, flicking her hair out of her face. Her bright red locks glinted in the sun before settling across her back in a fiery cascade. The sight made his breath hitch, as she had no doubt intended. He let his answering chuckle rumble deep in his chest – just the way she liked it – and smirked, deliberately. As expected, her eyes snapped to his face and lingered at his lips, a moment too long. Both of them were blushing faintly as they shared a look of mutual admiration. Cullen was the first to look away, rubbing his neck and grinning bashfully as he glanced at the sky. The sun was almost fully risen, now, but the view was not the only thing he had wanted to share with his Inquisitor today. Fingering his pocket, he steeled himself and broached the subject.

"The last time I was here was the day I left for Templar training," he began. The familiar contours of his lucky coin settled into his leather-clad palm as he drew it out. Kelandris moved back to his side, and they peered down at the token together. "My brother gave me this. It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for luck..." He smirked in wry amusement. "Templars are not supposed to carry such things. Our faith should see us through." It was a silly thing to hold onto, really, but it had been comforting having a piece of home. A reminder that not everything had to be associated with magic, or lyrium, or demons – some things could just remind him of the sound of water lapping against a weathered dock and the smell of shortbread cooling on a windowsill. Now, though... Honnleath had been lost in the Blight, but Cullen had found a new home.

Skyhold.

Except, it wasn't the fortress itself that made him feel like he belonged – it was Kelandris. Anywhere he could stand with her at his side was home enough for him.

"I don't think it worked," she said now, referring to his supposed lucky charm, half dubious, half amused. "You haven't been all that fortunate."

He had certainly had more than his fair share of catastrophes, that was true. But even so... "I should've died during the Blight. Or at Kirkwall, or at Haven. Take your pick. And yet, I made it back here." He glanced up at her face, hovering so close to his. "I found you." The day Kelandris crossed his path had been the luckiest day of his life. Today, however, he wanted to pass that luck on to her. As Inquisitor, she was constantly out in the field, putting herself in harm's way, making Thedas safe for the rest of them. Her place on a battlefield was on the front lines. His place, in contrast, was behind them, directing the flow of battle and keeping _her_ safe in turn. She needed good fortune much more than he did, now. Taking her hand, he turned it palm up, placing his coin in the center. "Humor me. We don't know what you'll face, before the end. This can't hurt."

Her eyes widened. "Cullen, this is your keepsake – I cannot accept this."

He curled her fingers around the little silver disk. "It is mine to give to whom I will." _Like my heart._ "I want you to have it."

Kelandris stared at their hands for a moment longer, but finally looked up, meeting his eyes. On her face was that same tender expression she had worn the night before, the one that turned his insides into jelly and made his breath catch in his throat...

"I'll keep it safe," she promised, and pressed her closed fist to her lips. The coin vanished into the breast pocket of her vest – directly over her heart. Cullen thought hazily that he _must_ be dreaming, this was all far too good to be true— but no, his imagination couldn't possibly conjure up such a vision of grace and beauty as this woman that stood before him now, gaze locked on his, a gentle smile lighting her face from within.

"Good," he managed, voice husky with emotion. He drifted irresistibly closer, drawn to her like a moth to flame. "I know it's foolish, but... I'm glad."

She kissed him, then. Deeply. He was struck anew by the sweetness of her lips, the way she moved confidently against him, the curl of heat that started in his belly and blossomed until he glowed with it, everywhere, every inch of his skin thrumming along with the beat of his heart as it pulsed in time with hers. He sighed into her mouth, and she hummed in response— The tingle of desire running through his veins ignited, bursting into passion with a shower of sparks that left him panting, blinded him to everything but her, her mouth, her eyes, her breath. Their lips melded together under the golden light of the new morning sun – but the glow in the heavens was nothing compared to the glow in his chest. She was his, all his, only his, just as he was hers, completely and utterly, body and soul... And Cullen wouldn't have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am a huge nerd, why do you ask?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! I was on an angst kick for a while, and then I got really busy, and also decided for some reason that it would be a good time to pick up Origins... (You can probably guess who my Warden is romancing - I have a type, it seems.) But I promise I haven't abandoned this!
> 
> Lessee here... Cullen being adorable? Check. Cullen being seductive? Mmm, yes, definitely check.

Fortunately for their taste buds, Cullen made breakfast while Kelandris tended to their mounts. She had been all but banned from cooking by the rest of the Inner Circle, all of whom had been shocked to discover that the fabled Herald of Andraste could be so terrible at something as mundane as preparing camp food. Her Commander, on the other hand, made excellent hotcakes, much to her delight. She helped herself to seconds and would have gone for thirds, but he warned her not to get too full.

"There used to be a thicket of berries a little ways along the shore," he explained eagerly. "I thought we could see if they're still here?"

Kelandris perked up at that. "What sort of berries?"

"That would be spoiling the surprise," he said with a devious grin. He looked entirely too pleased with himself – he was _far_ too handsome to be making such an expression. She crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow coolly, but despite her best efforts he refused to elaborate.

"And you said _I_ was insufferable," she grumbled at him. Cullen merely chuckled wickedly. The sound made her shiver a little inside – he may be acting like a smug bastard, but he made for such a _sexy_ smug bastard that she really couldn't fault him too much.

Once they had cleaned their dishes, he showed her the little path around the lake that hopefully had a treat at the end of it. She studied his profile surreptitiously as they walked, hand in hand. He wasn't wearing his armor – he had shucked it off during breakfast – and he seemed... younger. Happier. Something like the earnest youth he must have been, the last time he was here, not yet burdened by a troubled past or an uncertain future. It was nice, seeing him like this. Kelandris imagined he had changed since then, becoming a little harder, a little more serious, a little less naive... She liked who he was now, but even so, this glimpse into his past was a rare privilege, and one she treasured. She especially appreciated the "happier" part – she didn't think she had ever seen him smile so much or so easily. And knowing that she was to blame, at least in part... Well, it made her chest glow with a warm bubble of— something. Some emotion for which she had no name. It wasn't the first time she had felt like this, either – most recently, she had noticed it the previous night, when she'd startled a full, genuine laugh out of him; and again early this morning, when he'd given her the coin he had kept for all these years. Whatever that feeling was, though, she didn't need to give it a name to know that she liked it. And she liked it very much.

Halfway around the lakeshore, Cullen abruptly leaned over to pick one of the wildflowers dotting the grassy sward. Twirling the stem in his fingers, he glanced at her hesitantly. After a moment, he offered her the bloom with a shrug and a rather abashed smile. She took it, raising an eyebrow curiously. In answer to the wordless question, her Commander cleared his throat, one hand rising to rub the back of his neck as was his habit.

"I was going to give you another compliment, too, but I think I used up all my eloquence last night. All I could think of was 'This flower is pretty and so are you.' So I figured I'd skip the compliment and just give you the flower instead."

Laughing, Kelandris tucked the small purple blossom behind her ear. "You are adorable, did you know that?"

He rolled his eyes, but chuckled nonetheless. "You may have mentioned it a few times before."

"Well then, it must be true." She winked and leaned up to kiss his cheek, now tinged pink with a blush. He was easy to tease. Joking aside, though, his offering touched her more than she let on. It was such a sweet gesture, and so _genuine_ – no one, save Cullen, had ever personally picked her flowers before. Not that she had never received any – back on her family's estate, every hopeful young lord who wished to court her would send over a whole floral arrangement, as per tradition – but such gifts were always carefully scripted and blandly polite. (She had taken lovers, as well, but those relationships rarely involved any exchange of tokens.) With Cullen, it was different – no mere empty formality, but a simple, spontaneous gesture of affection. Her Commander had shown more emotion with a single blossom than she had ever found in any of her noble suitors' elaborate bouquets. He was the most exquisitely romantic man she had ever met— and, wonder of wonders, he was all hers. Kelandris marveled at her good fortune as she smiled dreamily up at him.

His answering grin was decidedly sappy. He really was adorable.

A few minutes of strolling later, they reached their destination. The faint track they were following turned sharply around a pile of boulders, and there, tucked against the edge of the trees, was a tall thicket of bushes, laden with—

"Raspberries!" She exclaimed. They weren't her absolute favorite (she preferred strawberries), but they were close – and nearly impossible to get fresh in Skyhold, nestled as it was high in the Frostbacks. Beside her, Cullen let out a surprised bark of laughter. She glanced at him.

"What?"

"You just— did you just _squeal_?"

Oh. She... may have, in fact. But she could hardly admit to anything so embarrassingly undignified.

"Absolutely not," she denied haughtily, cheeks pink.

"Oh, I think you did," her Commander countered with a grin. He pushed into the tangle of branches, plucking a jewel-bright raspberry and offering it to her dramatically. "For you, since you're excited enough to squeal."

"I do not _squeal_ ," she insisted in a lofty tone, even as she accepted the offered fruit. "Such a thing would be entirely unfitting for a woman of my standing and position."

"Of course," Cullen agreed solemnly, picking a berry for himself. He swallowed with a pleased noise and took another as he continued, "So, would you say you shrieked instead?"

Rather than trying to respond around a mouthful of fruit, Kelandris simply threw her next raspberry at him instead. He tried to catch it in his mouth, but missed, ending up with a smear of red juice on his nose. She paused in her feast to giggle, and he raised an eyebrow as he wiped off his face.

"Assaulting your Commander with sugary projectiles? Is that what you call 'befitting a woman of your standing and position,' now?"

"Obviously," she replied primly, and threw another piece of fruit. He caught it neatly this time. "But I should warn you that the reverse is most definitely not true, in case you were thinking of responding in kind."

He chuckled, rolling a berry between his fingers and looking at her ominously. "Oh really? You know, I've never been overly concerned with propriety – I might just decide to do so anyway."

Kelandris fixed him with her best disdainful glare, though the effect was somewhat lessened by her failing struggle to keep a straight face.

"You wouldn't dare."

In answer, Cullen made as if to pelt her with his raspberry – she ducked quickly, but he simply popped it in his mouth instead.

"You're right, of course," he sighed in mock regret after he swallowed, "I find myself entirely unable to mistreat you in such a fashion." He sidled closer through the bushes, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "But, I can always take revenge another way..."

Now that promised to be interesting. She expected something sweet – he would hand-feed her more fruit, perhaps, or maybe draw her in for a berry-flavored kiss (though if he didn't, she would have to remember to do so later – it sounded delicious, on many different levels). He did neither. Instead, he took her gently by the wrist, raised her hand to his lips, and sucked a juice-covered finger into his mouth. With his smoldering honeyed eyes locked on hers, he licked it clean, his clever tongue caressing her skin in slow, sensual swirls. Sweet Maker, that _tongue_ – she had kissed him enough to appreciate his skill with it already, but now he was giving her a very thorough demonstration that his finesse was not limited to kisses alone. It was incredibly erotic – where had her sweet chantry boy learned such a thing? He was making her _melt_. As if sensing her thoughts, he slid her first finger from his mouth with a wet smack, leaving her all but breathless – no one should be allowed to be that sexy. Cullen's lips curled into a devastating smirk, and he began suckling her next finger. Maker, he was glorious – her hand was not the only thing becoming damp from his ministrations...

"Now you're playing dirty," she complained. It came out as half a moan. His wicked, rolling chuckle only stoked the coil of heat pooling in her belly.

"Am I?" He removed her hand from his mouth to speak against her fingers, still in that husky rumble that turned her knees to jelly. Her eyes narrowed at the feigned innocence of the question – her Commander knew _exactly_ what he was doing to her. But he was not the only one who could tease – Kelandris let her lips curl into a sly smirk of her own.

"Oh yes," she breathed, "But I can play dirty, too." With her free hand, she picked another raspberry and brought it to her mouth. Cullen watched, intrigued, still idly lapping at her fingers. He stopped, however, when she bit into her treat, very deliberately letting a trickle of sweet juice run down her chin.

"Whoops," she purred, and dragged her tongue unhurriedly over her lips. Cullen's eyes followed the motion, then moved to track the line of pink liquid as it traced a path along her skin. Kelandris's coy smile widened – she had him now. She trailed one finger languidly up the column of her throat, collecting the spilled droplet and following its trail back up to her mouth, where she licked it clean. Suggestively. Cullen was riveted, his honey-gold eyes fixed on her hand, pupils dilating slightly – his desire was gorgeously enticing. With a rapturous hum, she ate the rest of her berry (it was only slightly exaggerated – they really were delicious). She let another dribble of juice escape from the corner of her lips, and chased after it with a darting flick of her tongue – not quite enough to catch the spill, of course. Her Commander swallowed a hungry moan, the sound resonating deep in his throat, and his gaze flicked up to hers. It was a silent request for permission – exactly the reaction she had hoped for. With a sultry wink, she cocked her head and bared the smooth line of her neck for him— and in an instant, his lips were hot against her skin.

She had purposely given him an opportunity to pay her back for the previous night's teasing – and he did, with interest. His stubble rasped against her skin as he licked a long line up her throat, replacing the tickle of spilled juice with a stripe of tingling, wet heat. Releasing her hand, he wrapped one strong arm around her waist, and cupped her cheek with the other palm. His thumb brushed her cheekbone as his lips meandered across her face, leaving a sparkling trail of kisses. He traveled slowly across her bottom lip, ran along the line of her jaw, diverted briefly from his course to grace the tip of her nose (she giggled breathlessly). His path continued beside her ear and up around her eyes to her forehead, anointing every inch of her skin with the sweet, smoldering fire of his passion. His touches were gentle, but fervent – reverent, even. No one could make her feel as special as Cullen did. She had had past lovers show less devotion while literally begging on their knees. Her eyelids fluttered – he noticed, of course, and stilled them with a feather-light caress of his lips, infinitely tender. She sighed, or moaned, or both, it didn't matter, and his hand left her cheek to glide through her hair, firm against her scalp – it was exquisite. He didn't stop there, though, running his calloused palm slowly down her neck and over one shoulderblade, and then further, down her back and side in one long line. He lingered on the curve of her hip before continuing down her thigh with a sure touch.

Kelandris had gone weak at the knees, kept upright by the arm still curled securely around her waist. Cullen's hand sat warm and heavy for a moment on the outside of her leg, and then he reversed his caress. He bypassed her hips this time to map out the curve of her rear, and she let out a startled gasp of pleasure – it was unlike him to be so daring. His hand continued, sliding back up her spine. All the way up past her shoulders he traveled, until finally, he twined his fingers through her hair once again and tipped her head back. She caught a glimpse of his golden eyes, burning with the intensity of his desire, before he joined his lips to hers at last.

The kiss started soft and sweet, like the raspberries on which they'd been feasting (it tasted of them, as well – as delicious as she had imagined). That couldn't last long, though, not against the molten heat Cullen had kindled in both their veins. Within a few heartbeats they were devouring each other, consumed in a smoldering haze of mutual passion. Kelandris clutched at her Commander, fingers digging into his back, and felt him do the same to her, muscles rippling under her hands— oh Maker, he was _incredible_. All hot lips and blazing need, shot through with threads of that pure, unending _devotion_ that took her breath away. She was lost in him, as he was in her, and like that they remained for a few endless minutes that could have been hours.

They were both panting when they finally drew apart. For a moment, they stared at each other, dumbstruck, before Kelandris broke the stillness with a breathless laugh.

"Sweet _Maker_ ," she gasped, "I don't think I'm ever going to be able to look at a raspberry again without blushing." Cullen threw back his head and joined in her laughter.

"Neither will I," he forced out, "But I don't mind in the slightest. Maker's breath, you are just..." He gestured helplessly, shook his head, and trailed off with a sheepish grin. Kelandris chuckled appreciatively. She liked rendering him speechless.

"Definitely worth it," she agreed, returning his smile. "Should we head back to the dock? I think maybe we've had about enough of these." Cullen acquiesced. He plucked one more berry as they exited the thicket, though, catching her eye and eating it with a wink. He took her hand for the walk back, as sweet as ever – sweeter, even, than the fruit they were leaving behind. Sweetest of all, however, was the heady glow that had settled deep in her chest, centered directly over her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *singsong voice* Somebody's in lo-ove!
> 
> Is anyone else craving raspberries now, or is it just me?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to change the fic title - it's been bothering me for a while and I thought of a better one around chapter 2 or so.

Kelandris sat on the end of the little dock, bare feet dangling in the lake. The predawn chill had given way to a beautiful day, and the cool water made a pleasant contrast with the warm air. Ripples marred the deep blue surface, lapping around her calves, and she smiled at their source: Cullen's head poked out of the water a little ways away. His boyish grin flashed brightly against the dark water for a moment before he dove once again. He had asked her if she wanted to go swimming – she had demurred, preferring to relax on the shore instead, but encouraged him to go ahead anyway. She was glad she had done so – her Commander was obviously enjoying himself. He so rarely got the chance to let loose. It was a gift to watch him take such joy in the simple pleasures the lake had to offer.

Of course, her motives were not _entirely_ altruistic in nature. The water was somewhat cloudy, but Kelandris still caught an occasional glimpse of his bare chest as he surfaced for air. It was every bit as delicious a sight as she'd imagined – his body was perfectly sculpted. Once, he'd spent a few minutes floating on his back in the middle of the lake, and she had stared unabashedly as his toned muscles glistened in the sun. She wanted to run her hands over every inch of that fair skin, to trace his scars, to explore and caress and tantalize until goosebumps followed her questing fingers and he _shuddered_ with desire... She hadn't been able to suppress a shudder of her own at the thought. And if the sly smiles Cullen occasionally tossed her way were any indication, well, he knew exactly where her thoughts were drifting.

Another splash drew her attention as he surfaced once again. This time, he swam over to the end of the dock to join her.

"Why hello there, my handsome Commander," she greeted him playfully. He blushed, of course. Beautifully.

"Hi," he returned, grinning shyly, "You're not so bad yourself."

"'Not so bad'? Is that really the best you've got?" Kelandris flicked water at him with her toes. He raised an arm instinctively against the splash, then quickly lunged and caught her foot before she could drop it back into the lake. She was too distracted by the heat of his hand against her bare calf to notice the devious edge that had crept into his smile – at least until he started tickling the sole of the foot he'd seized. Her startled laughter rang out across the surface of the water.

"Far from it," he replied over her sounds of mirth, deftly recapturing her ankle as she tried to twist out of his grip. "You, my dear Inquisitor, are radiant, selfless, inspiring, and utterly, utterly gorgeous— and have I mentioned how much I like hearing you laugh?"

His questing, calloused fingers found a particularly sensitive spot and lingered there. She all but squealed his name, gasping for breath and clutching at the end of the dock for support. Once upon a time she had been relatively accustomed to getting tickled – she had three older siblings, after all – but it had been many years since anyone had attempted to do so. (The more insufferable of her two brothers had been the last to try – she'd wiped the smug grin off his face, repeatedly, in the sparring ring the next morning.) Her brothers and sister had never smiled at her quite so _adoringly_ while tormenting her in such a fashion, however. It would have been endearing if she wasn't laughing so hard – her sides were starting to hurt. In a desperate bid for freedom, she kicked at the surface of the water with her other foot, splashing her Commander as thoroughly as she could manage in her rather compromised position. To her relief, Cullen sputtered, laughing himself now, and let her go.

"You are a very wicked man," she informed him frostily, once she had regained her breath – although she couldn't prevent a ghost of a smile from tilting up the corners of her mouth.

"I don't know about that," he replied breezily, "You certainly seemed to be enjoying yourself." Rolling her eyes, she splashed him again. This time, he splashed her back, albeit lightly. His aim was good – he managed to douse her shins with hardly a drop landing on her clothing – but Kelandris drew herself up sternly nevertheless.

"You had better not get me wet!"

For a moment, Cullen looked contrite, but then his expression relaxed into an utterly _devastating_ smirk. Her eyes widened slightly, breath catching. What was he—

"But what if I _want_ to get you wet?" It came out as a low rumble, emanating from somewhere deep in his chest. Sweet Maker, he could make her melt with that voice alone.

"Cullen Rutherford!" She exclaimed in mock outrage. "Is that any way to speak to— _oh..._ " Apparently not content with words alone, her Commander had started trailing hot kisses down the inside of her calf. The light rasp of his stubble left tingles in its wake; his lips were exquisitely warm against her skin. When she finished her sentence, she was practically purring. "...To speak to a lady?"

He didn't answer right away. That was fine by her – the sight of him below her, lavishing her bare skin with careful attention, was erotic enough to make her toes curl. Her imagination seized on the moment, presenting her with an embellished version: in her mind's eye, she perched on the edge of her bed instead of the edge of a dock. And Cullen... Cullen knelt, blazing a trail of tantalizing kisses down her legs, just as he did now. Although, perhaps, he would rather let his lips wander _upwards_. Perhaps he would linger over her inner thighs, smirking, until the heat that blossomed in her core became too much to bear – and then, growling, she would snap, and show him _exactly_ what he could do with that oh-so-clever mouth of his. Or perhaps he'd be too eager to tease, and she could be the wicked one, instead, and hold him back. She'd tangle her fingers in those luscious curls, and he'd stare up at her with lust-darkened eyes and whisper, "Let me taste, my lady, please..."

Back in the present, her runaway train of thought was making her squirm deliciously. Her Commander noticed her reaction – she felt the vibrations of a satisfied chuckle against her calf. _What if I want to get you wet?_ he'd asked – and had liked the answer he'd received, apparently. He finally looked up once his line of kisses reached her ankle, letting her foot drop back into the water but keeping a hand curled around her leg. He still hadn't responded to her playful accusation – _Is that any way to speak to a lady?_ – but he did so now, with that delicious smirk curled around his scar.

"You're right, that was awfully untoward – whatever are you going to do with me?"

Sweet Maker, he knew how to push her buttons. In answer, she threaded her fingers through his damp curls and tipped his head back for a searing kiss. His lips parted eagerly for her questing tongue; she felt rather than heard the low groan that rose in the back of his throat. A moment later, though, Kelandris drew back hurriedly – she'd leaned precariously out over the water to reach his mouth with hers, and could feel her balance waver even through the sweet fire of their passion. Her Commander rose up on his toes to extend the kiss as long as possible, unwilling to let her go so easily. When she sat up out of his reach, he settled back down with a pout. She stroked his hair in appeasement; his expression changed to one of lazy contentment.

"What shall I do?" She mused. Her fingers shook droplets of water loose from his golden curls – her gaze followed one idly, tracing a path down the side of his face, along his strong jaw, the corded muscles of his neck... "How about—" she paused for a smirk of her own; Cullen cocked his head, curious, "—whatever I want?"

The effect of her words was immediate. His lips parted slightly around a sudden breath, eyes darkening; he shivered, and when he spoke his voice had gone low and rough.

"Anything you desire, Kelandris."

Oh yes, he _definitely_ knew how to push her buttons. Smiling coyly, she slipped her legs over his shoulders, pinning him in place with her ankles locked behind his neck. His hands curled around both her knees, welcoming her hold. From the way his gaze lingered on her lips, it was clear he expected another kiss. Kelandris, however, had other plans – he had tickled her mercilessly earlier, and now she intended to take her sweet revenge. Suppressing a smirk, she lifted his chin with gentle fingers. Cullen's eyes went half-lidded in anticipation... and then sprung wide, as her fingers skimmed teasingly over the exposed line of his throat. With a yelp, he jerked back in surprise—

And promptly lost his footing on the slippery lakebed, sending them _both_ toppling over into the water. The sudden impact drove the breath from her lungs. She scrambled for purchase against the sandy bottom, emerging a moment later, spluttering and coughing. Her Commander popped up beside her, snorting water from his nose. Laughing, he slicked his hair out of his eyes. Kelandris, however, was _not_ amused.

"Well, that was not quite how I intended to..." Meeting her angry glare, Cullen trailed off, his grin fading. "Oh, Maker's breath, I'm sorry. I made you upset – here, I can at least help a little—" His expression the picture of chagrin, he swept her into his arms. She grumbled, but did not protest as he carried her back to shore. Even annoyed, she could appreciate such an impressive display of chivalry combined with raw strength. He set her carefully on her feet when they reached dry land, hovering solicitously until she shooed him away to let her change. She fought the urge to scowl at his retreating form and wrung out her hair. There would be water dripping down her back the rest of the afternoon, now, and it left her feeling rather petulant. She had _asked_ him not to splash her, so of course he went and dumped her in the lake instead. How very _considerate_ of him... But she was being unfair, and she knew it – it had clearly been an accident. 

Fortunately, a fluffy towel and a fresh set of clothes brightened her outlook considerably. While she'd changed, Cullen had settled down a little ways away with his back against a sun-warmed boulder. He looked up anxiously as she approached, making as if to rise, but she waved him back down, smiling despite herself. He made quite the picture, with drops of water sparkling along the lines of his well-honed physique... When she sat on the rock behind him, he shifted around to face her, leaning sideways against the stone. The play of muscle across his bare chest as he moved was nothing short of mesmerizing, and did much to ease her remaining irritation. Whatever was left quickly evaporated in light of his earnest, soulful gaze. She couldn't possibly stay angry when he looked at her like that.

"I'm sorry," he apologized once again.

Her smile was much warmer, now. "It's fine, Cullen. Really." She reached out to touch his face, stroking his cheek with just the tips of her fingers. He turned his head to brush one with a gentle kiss.

"Alright," he murmured, looking back at her with a small smile of his own tugging at his lips, "If you're sure."

"I am," Kelandris reassured him. Unfortunately, while she was quick to forget her ire, her Commander seemed to have taken it to heart. He was still shooting her contrite glances, even as she started toying idly with his hair (the early afternoon sunlight glinted off his wet curls like burnished gold – it was very striking). She didn't want him to be upset, especially not on her behalf – but perhaps she could turn the situation to both their advantages...

"Of course, you could always make it up to me," she suggested coyly. Cullen's eyes snapped quickly to hers. He caught her smirk; a brief grin of anticipation lit up his whole face.

"What would you have of me, my lady? Name it, and it is yours."

Maker, he was so eager to please – and it was such an honor, a _privilege,_ to be on the receiving end of that devotion. Had any of his former superiors known what a treasure they held? Obviously, their current relationship was vastly different than that of Templar to Knight-Commander – but even so. Kelandris felt a flash of righteous fury, thinking of the specters of his past, of those who had abused his loyalty, abused _him_ – she wanted to find every bastard who had ever dared to hurt _her_ Cullen, and shove a blade through every single one of their foul, black hearts. Of course, most of the scoundrels in question were already dead – and anyway, she had far more pleasant matters to attend to at the moment.

"A kiss will do, I think," she purred, running a knuckle down the strong line of his jaw, "A suitably _repentant_ kiss."

Cullen chuckled richly, starting to rise in one fluid motion so he could press his mouth to hers. Partway up, however, he paused and cocked his head, a wicked glint in his eyes and a sly smile playing about his lips, twisting his scar.

"Repentant, you say?" His husky rumble immediately set her blood aflame. He caught her hand, his thumb brushing tantalizingly along her knuckles, though his gaze remained locked on hers. She flushed, lips parting slightly in desire. 

"Indeed," she murmured coolly despite the heat in her skin, inclining her head. In response, he dropped back down – not sitting, this time, but _kneeling._ Sweet Maker... She liked where this was going.

"Please accept my humblest apologies, my lady Inquisitor," he spoke in a voice like fine velvet, soft and rich and smooth, and rippling with banked passion. Blessed Andraste, but he was magnificent. He was cradling her hand in both of his, now, and he glanced at the back of her palm, then up at her face, a hint of uncertainty in his gaze. This sort of deference seemed a little foreign to him – but he had a natural instinct for it. All he needed was a little encouragement – encouragement that Kelandris was _more_ than happy to provide. Dropping into the role of 'haughty noblewoman' was as easy as breathing – shoulders pulled back just so, chin lifted ever so slightly, a delicate arch curving her eyebrows...

Cullen responded instantly. He dropped his eyes and brought her fingers to his lips, pressed lingering kisses to each knuckle in turn. She felt the whisper of his breath as he sighed contentedly against her hand. Her gaze ran hungrily over the sleek plane of his back, accented by the glittering rivulets of water that trickled from his hair. He was so gorgeous, and all _hers,_ and she could look at him like this _all day_ — And then he glanced up at her again, not in hesitation, this time, but supplication, his honeyed amber eyes glowing like embers under hooded lashes... A wave of heat swept over her, from the roots of her hair to the soles of her feet, potent enough to curl her toes.

"Forgive me?" Her Commander's voice had gone rough, awash with utter sincerity. She caught a glimpse of his devastatingly sinful smirk, before he bowed his head to her. When he touched his forehead to the back of her hand, Kelandris nearly came undone on the spot. Drawing a shuddering breath, she ran the fingers of her free hand reverently through his hair. He sighed softly in pleasure once again, nuzzling against the hand he still held. Oh, Sweet Maker... Closing her eyes, she did it again, reveling in his gentle reactions. Cullen on his knees for her – shirtless, no less – was everything she could have hoped for and more.

"Ask me like _that,_ " she murmured, reopening her eyes to feast on the vision before her, "And I'll forgive just about anything." Her Commander chuckled at that. His lips brushed once more against her fingers before he looked up at her again. When her free hand cupped his cheek, he leaned into her touch. His expression was one of utter bliss. There was something deep and tender in his eyes, something that quickened her breath and caused warmth to blossom in her chest.

"Cullen," she breathed, letting that bloom of emotion – whatever it was – spill over to color her voice. His soft smile widened into something dazzling as her thumb stroked his cheekbone.

"Kelandris," he replied, and oh, she would never tire of the way he said her name, caressing every syllable like it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. But there was wonder in it, this time, and longing, as if he couldn't quite believe she was here and _his_ — "What did I ever do to deserve you?" he finished wistfully, bright smile turning woefully self-deprecating.

"Oh, my Cullen..." she sighed. Slipping off her rocky perch, she snaked her arms around his neck and settled into his lap. He let out a startled "Oof" at her sudden weight, but recovered quickly, one strong arm curling reflexively around her waist. "Well, for starters..." Fixing him with her best earnest stare, she injected her voice with a hint of steel. "You've taken a bunch of raw recruits and forged them into an army to rival that of any nation. I've seen you the way you interact with the troops, my Commander – they respect you. They look up to you. _I_ look up to you." She punctuated her words with a kiss. Soft, brief, gentle – just a brush of lips, really, but it was so hard to keep her mouth off him, sometimes. Especially when he looked at her with that trace of melancholy, the one that meant he was feeling unworthy... It made her want to grab him, kiss him, hold him— anything that would ease the insecurities in that sweet amber gaze.

"And you've been through so much," she continued, "Enough to break any three lesser men – and yet you still strive to do the right thing. You still have faith, and honor, and trust – you are so strong, Cullen, strong and brave and _good_ —" She broke off, surging up to join her mouth to his once again. She needed an outlet for her passion, needed to show him her sincerity in a way that mere words could not express. This kiss was not tender, but fierce and ardent, full of liquid heat, fueled by the fire of her conviction. Cullen's arms tightened around her, a wordless groan rising in his throat. His lips parted beneath hers in a clear invitation – but she was not done reassuring him yet. Through a great effort of will, Kelandris drew back and caught her breath. 

"You deserve this," she proclaimed, meeting his eyes squarely. "You deserve _me_. I have said it before, and I will say it again. As often as it takes to convince you. Every day, if I must."

For a moment, he was still. He simply looked at her, wide eyes searching her face, kiss-swollen lips slightly parted – Maker, but he was gorgeous – and then he pulled her into a crushing embrace. His muscled arms locked tight around her, one strong hand weaving through her wet hair to tuck her under his chin.

"Thank you," came a rough whisper in her ear, thick with emotion. "Thank you. I— I know I shouldn't doubt you, shouldn't doubt _us_... I just— I need the reminder, sometimes." He nestled a kiss into her hair. In response, she nuzzled against him affectionately. It never ceased to amaze her just how sweet he was. Her lips brushed the hollow of his throat, eliciting a startled noise of pleasure. "Maker's breath, Kelandris... how are you just so _perfect?"_ She smiled into his neck. His voice was tinged with awe, but there was a current of laughter running beneath the words. That was a good sign – if he could tease, that meant his moment of insecurity had passed.

"I've had a lot of practice," she retorted playfully. His answering snort of laughter tickled her ear, sending a pleasant tingle down her spine.

"And here I thought it was just a natural talent."

She chuckled. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, then."

There was a gentle tug on her hair. She looked up into Cullen's earnest, golden eyes. "Impossible," he asserted, husky-voiced. Another tingle of pleasure followed the first. "You could never disappoint me, my lady." Dipping his head, he anointed her brow with a fervent, scorching kiss. Sweet Maker... There was only one appropriate response to such a breathtakingly romantic gesture. Twining her fingers through his curls, Kelandris kissed him back, full on the mouth. He melted against her, humming deliciously. They let their passion build slowly, easing apart to steal a breath, only to surge back together again like the swelling tide. This time, when his lips parted before hers, she did not pull back. Instead she pushed forward, tasting his mouth with playful flicks of her tongue – exploring, teasing, claiming, all at once. Cullen returned the favor, his motions slower and more sensual – as thorough in his affections as he was with everything else. Time seemed to blur, individual moments melding together in a glowing haze, replete with the slick glide of tongues and the warm press of lips... Oh, Maker, kissing him was... was... she had no words for just how _wonderful_ it was, kissing him.

Finally, small eternities turned back into seconds, and they parted, flushed and panting. With a sigh of pleasure, Kelandris sank back against Cullen's chest. Her eyes closed as she listened to his rapid heartbeat slow. She felt languid, boneless – and decadently indulgent. As the Inquisitor, she could hardly afford to spend whole mornings sprawled in her Commander's lap – but here, for a little while, she did not have to be the Inquisitor. Right now, with his arms wrapped tight around her, she could simply be Kelandris. His lady. Of all her titles, that one was the one that she liked best. And, for the moment, at least, it was the only one that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Kelandris, stop abusing italics for emphasis.  
> Kelandris: But I _like_ italics!


End file.
